


The Great Shipwreck of Life

by paranormalcy



Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Canon Temporary Character Death, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Orphanage, Reader-Insert, Reunions, Self-Insert, Smut, Time Skips, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranormalcy/pseuds/paranormalcy
Summary: You've been a lot of things to Sam Drake over the years, his first kiss, his best friend... he was the one who took your virginity, who taught you how to break and enter, who promised he'd never ever leave you and that if he ever did he'd always come back. One day he breaks that promise, and fifteen years later... he makes it up to you.





	1. The Tale of Two Orphans

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added as chapters are so to not ruin the surprises you likely know are coming / This will contain spoilers for Uncharted 4  
> Since I know some of you will click this wanting to read the smut and just the smut - I don't blame you - you want Chapter 6 & Chapter 12. You're welcome.

The first time you saw Sam Morgan you were both shockingly young and living in an orphanage. You'd been having a shitty time recently, nothing new - you'd been living there as long as you could remember, these two new kids had been dropped off; a ten year old and a five year old, both boys.

The youngest was terrified - _so_ terrified - his world had been torn apart and there was no hope in sight that it'd ever be put right again. The elder tried so hard to piece it back together, though, just for his little brother, to protect him, to keep him safe from the nightmares and the crippling fear of abandonment. They'd isolate themselves, withdrawn in their own little bubble that no one was allowed to be in, trying to rebuild their world, gain their footing again. The eldest one was furious, all explosive rage at what had happened... You couldn't blame him, you'd feel the same way in his position.

You found out their names over lunch from one of your friends - Samuel and Nathan Morgan - there were rumors about their family, each and every one of them more tragic than the last. You chose to ignore them.

It was weeks before you spoke to Sam for the first time.

You were sitting in a window seat looking out onto the view below, it was early morning in Spring; you remember because of the smell coming through the window of the dew on the grass, the flowers newly blooming in the gardens. You had a book on your lap, something you weren't quite following. You're not sure if it was just too complicated for a nine-year-old of if you just weren't interested. Perhaps you were too busy daydreaming out of the window, wondering what it'd be like if your family came back... if you even _had_ a family. It'd be nice.

The sound of a throat clearing nearby snaps you out of your daydream, and you glance over to see the elder Morgan boy worrying his lip between his teeth, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as he watches you. He doesn't know where he stands anymore, he feels as alone as you are. You snap your book closed and set it down on a nearby table, shifting to make room opposite you, he crosses to sit down, pulling his knees up to his chest as he curls into a ball on the seat.

You're both quiet for a few minutes, just looking out of the window together - you're almost lost in the daydream again when he speaks. You glance at him, wondering if maybe you'd misheard, he was so quiet... such a stark contrast to the Sam you've come to know. "Thank you," he says in a quiet breath, "I-I, uh-I'm Sam."

"Y/N," you breathe, introducing yourself with a small smile, he nods silently and retrieves your book, looking at the cover for a moment before chuckling.

"The Bible?" he asks you quietly, setting it back down on the table, "is that the only book they have around here?"

You feel a smile form on your lips, "we're in a Catholic orphanage, do you expect a library stocked with banned books?"

That devilish grin that you've grown to love broke onto his face, "what, nuns don't like erotica?" You feel your eyes widen at the suggestion as a surprised laugh escapes you, he turns his attention back to the window and after a few moments you realize the conversation isn't going to pick back up. You excuse yourself and head out. Sam isn't what you expected him to be.

~~

You're not sure how it happened but you became friends with Sam. It started by just sitting together when one of you was lonely, being there when one of you needed someone. Soon it progressed to the point where you were the only one who could calm him down from his explosive rages, you were the only one who could get him to relax. The only one who he'd trust to take care of Nathan unsupervised. You'd found the family you'd always wanted and it was the Morgan brothers.

Then Nathan got sick with some kind of flu that had been going around the orphanage. Sam blamed himself, of course - it was irrational blame, _completely_ irrational. He could never have prevented the flu, but goodness he hated himself for not protecting Nathan from it.

Nathan Morgan was only five years old, laid up in bed wrapped in blankets, shivering as sweat poured down from his brow. He'd been coughing all night; his eyes were red and watering; his nose both congested and running down his face at the same time; he kept complaining his legs ached.

Sam paced the room as one of the sisters took Nathan's temperature; he's no better. You stick your head around the door, watching Sam pace and the sister wipe away the sweat. "Do you need help?" you ask quietly.

"No, there's no need for you to get sick too," the sister replies as she rinses the cloth in a bowl of water that's placed on the bedside cabinet, "I've been telling Samuel he shouldn't be in here-"

"He's my brother," Sam snaps. He's like a cornered dog that's been kicked, he's getting aggressive; you can see it in the way he's tensing, the way his hands are balling into fists by his side, clenching and unclenching as he paces. He's going to lash out soon.

"Sam?" you move into the room and catch his wrist lightly, his eyes meet yours and you smile warmly, "I'll stay with Nathan, you go rest, if anything changes I'll come and find you."

"He's my brother," he whispers, "he's just a kid, he doesn't deserve any of this," you can see tears pricking the corners of his eyes and you feel your heart coming up your throat, slowly closing it off and choking you.

You nod quickly, swallowing past the heart shaped lump, "I know, you're right, he doesn't deserve it." You let your hand move down from his wrist to hold his, "he's going to get better Sam, I promise," you wrap your free arm around his neck and hug him tightly, his free hand resting on your back. His entire body feels stiff, rigid, he can't even think about relaxing when Nathan's so sick.

Nathan might just be a kid but so's Sam.

~~

You continued your weird relationship for another two years - just over actually - until Sam's thirteenth birthday. He woke you up in the morning and told you he wanted to show you something, you followed as he led you through the orphanage; took you first to the kitchen to retrieve a white box and then to an older part of the building.

He led you up a spiral staircase into a disused room at the top of the chapel, looking out over the room below; the empty pews and pulpit. It was some kind of old study, possibly for whichever member of the clergy was in charge at the time.

He grabs a set of chairs, one that looks sturdy and one that looks like it could fall apart at any moment... he takes that one for himself. He dusts yours down and pats it, you sit and wait while he sits opposite you and arranges the box on his lap.

"So," he folds his hands over the top of the box, "you might be aware that it's someone's birthday today," a small smile plays at his lips.

"Really?" you ask in mock ignorance, "I didn't know that." Like Sam hadn't been reminding you all month leading up to this moment, letting you know _exactly_ which day it would fall on. Even if he didn't - you'd been friends for two birthdays prior to this, of course you remembered it.

He chooses to ignore your comment, "I managed to convince Father Duffy to get us something," he says, "we're supposed to share with everyone but I don't see why I should - fuck them."

You feel yourself gasp without telling yourself too - you're just so surprised; nuns raised you and they don't tend to use the word _fuck_ \- Sam just laughs, "it's just a word," he tells you, "and I'm a _teenager_ now."

"Mm," you feel yourself scowl at him, "yeah, you're so mature Sam."

He rolls his eyes and opens the box, showing you the gooey looking chocolate cake inside, "guess you won't want any of this then?" Your jaw drops. It has been so long since you've seen cake. Or chocolate. Or _chocolate cake_. "If I'm not good enough for you."

"Sam," you breathe, this time you choose to ignore his comment, "you didn't." His lips twitch up and he lifts two forks out of the box, you take one of them and pull your chair closer.

"We're gonna save some for Nathan, alright?" he asks.

"I thought you said 'fuck them'?" you ask, his eyebrows raise as you repeat the word without flinching, you guess he expected you to; he's right, though, it _is_ just a word, "thought that meant everyone."

"Nathan gets cake too, alright, if you have a problem with that _you_ don't get cake," he tells you.

"I don't have a problem with that at all," you say, "just seems like you change your mind a lot." He shakes his head and smiles. "Fuck 'em!" You mock, "Not Nathan though, I forgot about Nathan-"

"God, you're so annoying," he snaps, laughing.

" _Oop_ ," you clamp a hand over his mouth, "you're already rebelling, can't have that, can't use the Lord's name in vain - especially in a chapel - first you're saying fuck then you're saying God-"

He sticks the fork into the cake to free up his hand then uses it to pull your hand away from his mouth, "shut up," he's smiling at you and for a second the look in his eyes almost matches the way someone would look at a sunrise.

"Make me," you challenge, you're not entirely sure what you're trying to get him to do. Maybe he'll shove a forkful of cake into your mouth? You're pretty sure you want him to kiss you. Not that he would. Or at least you didn't think he would-

He grabs your shirt collar and pulls you forward, almost dragging you out of your chair as your lips collide, your arms wrap around his neck and you melt into his grasp. Part of your mind is worried about the cake - you _really_ want that cake - but man, this is nice. You didn't realize kissing Sam Morgan would be so _nice_ . His lips are much softer than you expected, his breath tastes vaguely like mint, and- _why_ had you never done this before?

It doesn't last long before you catch yourselves and pull away, both trying to pretend nothing has happened, Sam quickly retrieves his fork and licks the frosting off it, "well," he says quietly, "happy birthday to me." A small laugh escapes you and he grins, before you know it you've both dissolved into fits of laughter.


	2. Sweetest Sixteenth

By the time your sixteenth birthday rolls around Sam's gone. There are rumors but the circumstances are cloudy. One person said he'd gotten arrested one time too many. One said he'd had sex with one of the nuns. One said he'd somehow desecrated the chapel. Then there was the official story - he gotten too old to live there.

You're not entirely sure it's true, Sam was sixteen when he left and while that is the right age to move onto a halfway house or some sort of single room occupancy - somewhere you were going to be moving to in a few weeks... it didn't add up.

He left suddenly, without warning, without telling _Nathan_.

It didn't make any sense.

You were awoken in the morning by a familiar feeling of being shaken, normally it'd be Sam - whether it was his birthday or yours he'd wake you in the morning and you'd sneak up to the study above the chapel with a box from the kitchen, it was always a different type of cake, sometimes ones you'd never heard of, but you always enjoyed them even if you weren't a fan of the flavor. You guess it was the company.

When you open your eyes you see Nathan leaning over you with an excited smile, "what's up, kiddo?" you ask sleepily.

"Sam," he says simply, "I got a message from him."

You sit bolt upright, suddenly much more awake and attentive, "is he alright?"

Nathan grabs your shoulders and squeezes, "he's waiting for you in the usual spot, said he's got you something extra special this time."

Your eyes widen, "t-the cake? Do you want to come with me? See him too?"

He shook his head, "he told me he'd catch me later."

You nod slightly, "I'll bring you some cake back, alright?"

~~

When you get to the study Sam is sitting waiting, leaning casually in his chair. He doesn't look like the same Sam you knew a few months ago. He's slightly more muscular and he looks much more tired. "Hey," he smiles, standing to cross to you. He also seems taller which is unnerving considering how tall he already was.

"How tall are you now?" you find yourself asking.

"Oh, yknow," he laughs, pulling across the room and onto his lap as he sits back down, "just over six feet." Your eyes widen and he lifts a box up from the floor and sets it on your knee along with an envelope. "You get to choose which you open first."

Your lips twitch up and you go for the envelope; inside is a cheesy birthday card that sings to you and has 'Sweet Sixteen' written across the front in bright pink letters, when you open it money falls out and you immediately catch it, handing it back to him, "I'm not taking your money."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, "I have a job now, i-it's not the best but it pays decently, please, take it, I couldn't decide what to get you."

"You being here is enough," you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes that threaten to spill down your cheeks - you never expected to be so emotional seeing him again but gosh, you never expected to see him again! You never expected to sit here eating cake again, and it's too much knowing it'd be the last time.

He smiles, nudging his nose against your cheek, "you're getting soft, princess."

"I love you." It takes a second for your brain to catch up to the words that just flew out of your face, when it does you gasp and clamp your hands over your mouth, the tears spilling down your cheeks from fear now - you just did something _incredibly_ stupid.

He just chuckles and moves your hands away, "yeah, I know you do," you want to scream, "I love you too," now you really want to scream. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a long slow passionate kiss; you haven't experienced anything like it. The first time you'd kissed Sam it felt like a slight sparking warmth, a small fire burning in your soul. Now it's fireworks and a blazing inferno threatening to consume you alive. You feel yourself getting swept up into it, your hands grabbing at anything they can, holding onto his denim jacket, raking through his hair, feeling his pulse in his neck under your fingertips as you trace his skin.

When you break apart you're breathless, gasping desperately for air like you've been underwater for a very long time. You _are_ desperate; you want him. Your hands grab at the front of his shirt and he catches your wrists, "cake first."

You're not exactly sure how to describe what's happening, the feeling between your legs or the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You know the church would frown upon it but frankly, you couldn't give a fuck. "Sam, I-"

He chuckles, pulling something out of his pocket, "don't worry, princess, it's on the agenda," you realize now it's a condom, and although you were raised by nuns, you're absolutely okay with it. In fact, you're a little disappointed you're going to have to wait.

"I have school today," you remind him, he shakes his head and you frown; he's expecting you to skip school, play truant in the chapel eating cake with a hot scoundrel... maybe lose your virginity. He smirks and you huff out a sigh, "fine."

He grins, "good, now open the box."

You look down at the cake box you'd almost forgotten about, you pocket the money and lift the lid. This cake is much taller than the previous ones, the white frosting clearly hiding multiple layers. He retrieves the forks from the box and hands one to you, "the birthday princess gets the first taste."

Your lips twitch up and you cut a piece off, inside is a vibrant shade of red you were never expecting to see inside a cake, "what the heck?"

"It's called red velvet," he tells you, "tastes like chocolate, the frosting is cream cheese."

You eye it skeptically, "cheese frosting?" That doesn't sound very appetizing at all but you trust Sam so you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt. He watches you with nervous anticipation as you bring the fork up, you groan as the taste of chocolate and creamy frosting blooms on your tongue, "oh that's good."

The nervous expression falls from Sam's features and instead a grin breaks out, "we can eat until you feel sick, talk about everything under the sun, and then we'll figure out how this sex thing works-"

"I know you're not a virgin, Sam," you say quietly. It isn't exactly a secret that Sam isn't the most... _innocent_. The nuns definitely aren't happy with him, you're pretty sure you've heard at least one of them crying, begging God to forgive his 'sins'.

"Okay," he breathes, taking your fork off you, he scoops up a piece of cake and holds it out for you, "open," your lips twitch up and you open your mouth for him. "I'll show you what to do, we'll go slow, I'll be gentle, I'll treat you like a princess," he tells you, then pulls the fork back to get more cake. "I'm not going to fuck you, no. I'm going to be as cheesy as this frosting - although, let's be honest, this frosting tastes like clouds - I'm going to make love to you, Y/N." You choke on a laugh and he smiles fondly as he holds the fork back out for you.

~~

The almost empty cake box had been discarded nearby, the thought of attending school today had been completely forgotten now. His lips on yours feel warm, they're always softer than you expect and you're always a little thrown by it. His hands slide up your sides, holding onto your waist as his mouth trails down your neck, your eyes closing as they roll back. Oh, it feels good.

He kisses back up to your jaw, up to your ear, he sounds breathless as he asks, "can I unfasten your jeans?"

Your hands go for your belt and after a moment of fumbling you unfasten the brown leather strap and unbutton your jeans, pushing down the zipper. He chuckles against your skin, "can I-"

"Yes," you breathe, lifting your hips off his lap, you grab his hand and push it under the waistband of your panties. "I'm sure, I'm ready, I want it to be you, Sam."

"If you change your mind-"

"I'll tell you," you promise, his breath dances across your skin and you try to suppress a moan, his lips twitch up and he pushes his hand into your underwear.

~~

Your fingers fumble to fasten your belt again, tugging your shirt down to cover your stomach, you glance over at Sam who's just finishing pulling his own shirt back on.

"Sam?" you breathe, "I know this doesn't change anything-"

"It changes everything," he tells you, "you said the L word, you lost your virginity, it changes things. Pretend it doesn't all you want, it does." You feel his arms wrap around you and you smile at his warm embrace. "I know we won't be able to see each other much from now on but- I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either," you breathe, he sighs into your shoulder then sits again, pulling you onto his lap. You mold yourself to him instinctively, your body pressed up against his, his arms wrap around you holding you tightly.

"We'll find a way," he tells you, his voice quiet, you nod, a smile on your face.


	3. The Brothers Drake

Finding a way doesn't go exactly as you'd expect. By seventeen you've managed to find a job and get yourself set up in a really cheap apartment that you can barely afford. When Sam shows up it's unexpected. Last time you'd seen him he'd told you he'd met someone else.

You were heartbroken. Of course you were - how else could you even react to that? He showed up on your doorstep and told you he wanted to cool things off with you because he wanted to try dating someone else. It was crushing. You never wanted to see him again. You didn't expect to, honestly, the way you'd reacted. All fire and burning anger.

You wonder if the reason you could get him to calm down was because you drained the anger for yourself, so you could use it. It sure felt like it when you were screaming at him, you still flinch when you think about the way you threw that vase - _trying_ to hit him in the head. You bring out the worst in each other, you see that now.

You're woken up by the sound of a motorbike pulling onto the street, just as you're about to go back to sleep someone knocks on your apartment door. You sigh and climb out of bed, you know who it is immediately - you don't even have to think about it. Sam's always wanted a bike, of course it's him. Who else would it be at five in the morning?

You unlock the door and open it, Sam's standing with his hands shoved in his jean pockets on your doormat. "How did you-" Nathan peers around him and your voice cracks, the question forgotten, "what happened?"

"Can we come in?" Sam asks, "we're... we have nowhere to go."

You worry your lip for a second, can you really say no? "Okay," you let them pass, closing and locking the door behind them.

"If you can just look after Nathan for a few days-"

You spin on your heel to glare at Sam, cutting him off, "wait, you're here because you've got _nowhere to go_ but only Nathan needs to stay?" you ask, "what about you?"

"It'll be too awkward, I'll find somewhere else-"

You find yourself shaking your head, "no, that's bullshit, you're staying here, stop being stupid," you point towards the kitchen, "help yourself to food," then towards your bedroom, "you can sleep in there, it's a double bed, I'll take the sofa."

Sam shakes his head, "no, Nathan will sleep on your sofa, I'll sleep on the floor-"

You let out a laugh, one that sounds cold, "do you have a job, Sam?"

His eyebrows knit together, "yeah, I mean... I don't know, maybe not now-"

"Not now?" you hesitate, you were going to ask how he could work with a bad back, force him to accept that he'd have to take your bed. Not now? "What did you do?"

They glance at each other, then Nathan starts speaking, explaining the situation, how they broke into a mansion to steal their moms things back and they got caught, the old woman called the cops on them. "So you're hiding out here for breaking and entering?" you ask, sitting down on the coffee table.

Sam shakes his head and you feel your stomach flip, "she, uh... she may have had a heart attack."

Your hands come up to cover your mouth, "did you- oh my god! Didn't you try to do CPR?"

"The cops were already there, we had to run-"

"You could have tried-!"

"No," Sam breathed, "she was going to cover for us then she had the heart attack; the cops were already there, it would've looked like we'd done it, either we'd scared her to death or- we had to run, we couldn't be there leaning over her when they came in."

You feel your stomach flip again, "I feel sick," you breathe. "God damn you Sam Morgan-"

"Sam Drake," he breathes. Your eyebrows raise, he tells you, "it's not like we can keep our names, is it?"

You cover your face, "God damn you Sam _Drake_ ," you feel your shoulders slump.

~~

Somehow, you're not sure how, you end up agreeing to Sam's ridiculous arrangement. Nathan on the sofa, you in the bed, Sam on the floor... it's not fair, it's not right. Nathan's a kid, he should have a bed, and Sam's just stubborn.

When you feel someone crawl into bed beside you, you honestly expect it to be Nathan. That Sam's back can't take the floor and he wants the sofa, that Nathan's going to crawl into bed with his honorary big sister.

Then surprisingly muscular arms snake around your waist and you feel someone press up against your back, "hey," his voice is low in your ear and you feel your cheeks flush.

"Sam," you're angry at yourself for being happy it's him, for being happy that the guy who tore your heart to shreds only a few months before is in your bed, to be in this... _ridiculous_ situation. "I thought you wanted to sleep on the floor?"

"Hurts," he mumbles, his lips pressing against the pulse in your neck. You let your eyes close. You wish you could hate him for leaving, for being a fuck up, for being... for being _Sam_ . God you _wish_ you could hate him.

"What about Crystal?" you breathe, "won't she be upset?"

"We're on-again off-again," he tells you, "currently... currently we're so _off_ I don't- I'm not sure she'll ever want to see me again given everything that's happened." The room goes silent and then the question that's been aching to escape bursts from your throat.

"Why did you come here?" you turn in his arms to face him, wanting to see his eyes when he answered you, wanting him to see how angry you are, "why did you come to me? Because you knew I would crack and let you in?"

"Because you're the only person I trust with Nathan," he says, and there's a tremor in his voice that makes your stomach twist; one that you've not heard in years, "and you're the only one I know that accepts how fucked up I am, I never should've left you-"

"You did, though, Sam-"

"I was an idiot! It's not the first time, it won't be the last," he tells you, "I thought you were the safe choice but it turns out that the reason you felt like home is because you _are_ home."

You felt your heart leap up your throat trying to escape, trying to return to him, "no," you croak, "I-" you shake your head, "I can't- you tore my heart out, Sam."

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I-I know it doesn't make up for it, but I am sorry."

"Look, can you just-" your voice dies, you shake your head, trying to free it, just make the words come up- "just go sleep on the _fucking_ floor, Sam!" His eyes widen, surprised by the outburst, at least at first, then he slowly nods. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to control your shaking breaths, your hands balling into fists, his weight shifts as he moves to stand.

"I'll forgive you," you breathe through the anger burning in your chest, "I'll always forgive you. It's just _really_ hard to right now, alright?"

You feel his lips brush your forehead, the slightest breath of a word against your skin, "goodnight," and then he's gone again, leaving your room as quietly as he came in.


	4. I Fought the Law

You spend the next few years moving around, never staying in one place long enough to get caught. You live mostly in hostels and abandoned houses, Sam teaches you how to pick locks, pick pockets, how to spot something that's worth money. You become a team, breaking into rich houses while the owners are out of town.

He doesn't want Nathan to get in on it, and he doesn't want you to get caught so he always takes the blame. You've bailed him out of jail so many times you've lost count. Little does Sam know, you've also bailed Nathan out a few times... and of course there was that time  _ you  _ got arrested and Nathan had to pretend to be much older than he actually was to bail you out, if Sam found out about that... oh, man, he'd have a heart attack.

Now, aged twenty one, sitting on a dock looking out over the water with Sam Drake sat beside you... it's perfect. Venice is beautiful, the weather is fantastic. Nathan is buying your lunch. Yet, somehow, you're not surprised to hear boots. You're not surprised to hear a booming voice.

You just glance at Sam, who grins back at you, "busted." You roll your eyes. Of course, he's stolen something. He climbs to his feet, the cops yell at him to get down and he starts talking to them instead. You just roll your eyes, putting your hands on your head. "Good afternoon, officers, what seems to be the problem?"

It doesn't take long for you to be pulled to your feet, just in time to see Sam get wrestled to the floor by three officers, one of whom starts reading him his rights. 

One of the ones who's with you starts reading you yours as they pull your hands behind your back and put the cuffs on you, you just meet their gaze and nod, "I know," you try to say it as quietly as you can - you don't want  _ Sam  _ to know you've had your rights read to you before. 

He hears. 

He's too worried about you to pay attention to the cops on top of him, typical Sam, really, putting everyone else first. You see it in his face when you look back at him, that look of blind panic. "You've-" he starts struggling trying to get to you and the cops pin him down. 

"Sam, stop resisting!" You yell, but it's too late, he manages to pull his arm free, throw a punch that connects square with one of the cops jaw's, and then you have to watch as someone pulls a club out, and hits him. More than once. By the time he's stopped fighting there's blood, you heard the distinct  _ crack _ ing of bones breaking, and he's  _ furious _ .

The cops grab his arms and pull him to his feet, he groans in pain, "that the kinda man you are?" He asks the cop that hit him, "did it make you feel good? Do it again-"

"Sam!" You yell, "will you shut the fuck up before you make it  _ significantly  _ worse for both of us!"

"Listen to your girlfriend, she's smart," the cop who's holding your cuffs says, "she's only done this once and she's already got the hang of it. You've done this, what was it? Forty-seven times now?"

"What do you mean she's done this before?" Sam asks, you can see that he's getting frustrated not knowing - he knows there's  _ something  _ someone is not saying, you feel your eyes widen, you'd never lie to him, right? "She's never been-"

"I have," your voice is so small; you're ashamed, you didn't lie to Sam, you never lied to Sam, in fact as far as you can remember keeping this and Nathan's arrests secret were the only lies you’d ever told him and they were by omission, "I was arrested back in Chicago," you see a mix of hurt and anger flash into his eyes, "I didn't tell you."

"Who bailed you out?" he asks, surging against the cops to try to get to you, "Y/N, if it wasn't me-"

"Sullivan," the first lie you've ever told Sam to his face; you're a practiced liar and it comes naturally, you've been doing it for years. You still remember lying to the nuns about where the hickeys Sam left on your neck on your sixteenth birthday came from, what they were, even. 'Oh no, sister, those aren't love bites, it's a rash, I've been scratching.' You were very convincing after all these years.

You just hope you can get to Victor first, talk to him, ask him to cover for you - you know he will if you explain the situation. If you explain it's to protect Nathan from his brother's disapproval, his brother's anger and frustration. Victor will understand. He's a reasonable man.

~~

"Hey."

You think you're hearing things the first time you hear it. A small whispering voice coming from somewhere nearby, you're laying on a cot in a jail cell, looking up at the ceiling, trying not to panic too much about what happened to Nathan.

"Hey, Y/N."

Your head snaps up at the mention of your name and you spot Nathan peering in through the barred window, he does a little wave and you sit up, shifting on the cot so you're sat with your back against that wall, "what are you doing here?" you whisper, you don't want to look too obvious should anyone come past.

"Came back as you were getting shoved in the cars," he said, "Sully's talking to the guy on the desk." You glance up at him quickly and he grins, "we're gonna get you out as fast as we can."

"Just a heads up - Sam knows I got arrested," you tell him, rubbing your tired eyes with your fingers, "warn Victor that Sam's going to be pissed at him."

"Why?" Nathan asks, then he catches on, a angry whisper coming down from the window, "you told Sam that  _ Sully  _ bailed you out?"

"I wasn't going to drop you in the shit, Nate-" and it's true, you never would, you'd always cover for him- "I'm supposed to protect you, that includes from your brother-"

"He wouldn't-"

"No, no, I don't- of course he wouldn't  _ hurt  _ you, I mean you don't deserve to be yelled at for lying to cops, for lying to him, for being... for being like him, alright, you don't," you tell him, "I'm gonna protect you from that, Nate, you're gonna be that innocent kid as long as I can help it."

He grins, and when he does he almost looks like Sam. Almost. It's that same shit-eating, ' _ I'm the King of the World _ ' grin. "I'm not that innocent, Y/N."

"I know you're not," you sigh, looking up at him, "you're a little shit who's just like his big brother," then you smile, shaking your head, "Sam doesn't have to know that though." 

"Sam's okay, by the way," Nathan tells you. You nod, course he is. You weren't even worried... it's a total lie, you'd been worrying about him since you got there. You hadn't seen him, you couldn't see him. You could just hear the intermittent sound of groaning coming from somewhere at the other end of the hall. "He's been checked by a doctor; he has two broken fingers and a broken rib-"

"What?" you jerk into a sitting position, looking up at him with wide eyes, "that's insane-"

"Mostly defensive wounds, apparently," Nathan said. "He was also covered in blood; he's got a bust lip and his nose was still bleeding-"

"Is it broken?" you ask, he shakes his head, " _ fucking cops _ ." Nathan's lips twitch into a grin, pointing at the cell door where Victor was now standing with one of the 'fucking cops.' Your cheeks flush and you stand, "not, uh, not you sir."

He shakes his head disapprovingly and turns to Victor, "can't you let her rot?"

"Sadly not," Victor says. The cop rattles the keys and you cross to the cell, forgetting about Nathan or your worry for Sam - fuck that you're outta there. The cell door is opened and you're led out. "Come on, Sam's waiting at the desk."

"Is he okay?" you ask quietly, Victor shakes his head, "what's wrong?"

"He's furious at you,  _ at me _ ," he replies, "apparently you were arrested before, and I bailed you out, funny how I don't remember it-"

"Oh shit," you breathe, "um-"

"I covered for you," he says, your eyes meet his and he nods, "you had your reasons, right? Someone bailed you out, if it wasn't Sam and you're saying it was me, it had to be-" You launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as you hug him. "Nate," he breathes.

~~

When you walk into the lobby the first thing you see is a denim jacket wearing form slumped in a chair, head in his hands, you dash across the lobby to him while Victor heads to the desk; you know you're supposed to fill out paperwork but you want to make sure Sam's alright first.

He lifts his head to look at you and you gasp in horror, there's blood everywhere and although most of it's dried, some of it's not. "Sam?" You can see he's trying to mask how much pain he's in, probably for Nathan, but the moment his eyes meet yours you see tears form. 

"I'm okay," he grits, his breath hissing through his teeth. You shake your head, he's not, he's  _ not  _ okay, he's really hurt. He's in pain. "No, I'm not," he agrees with a pained laugh, "but I'm okay for Nathan, alright?" You nod, you'll have to be alright with it.

Victor taps your shoulder and motions for you to come fill out the paperwork, you lean in close to Sam's ear, "when we get you back I'm cleaning you up, alright? No protesting." He nods and you stand to follow Victor.


	5. The Holy or the Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay I've been trying to juggle getting this ready, and writing the next part of Professor AU :)

A word with Victor saw Nathan safely removed from the premises while you help Sam clean up, you grip the edge of his shirt and lift it up gently as he raises his arms, his breath whooshing out of his lungs in pained pants as he moves. "You're gonna be alright," you breathe quietly, "just get your shirt off, get you cleaned up-" you lift his shirt clear and hesitate, looking at him.

"What?" he presses his hand against his ribs and flinches. "Just enjoying the view?"

"Nathan said you'd seen a doctor," you say quietly, "you _told_ him you'd-"

"I _have_ seen a doctor," Sam says, "doctor didn't do shit for me." Your eyebrows raise and you start worrying your lip, not sure how to proceed. You know you need to clean him up, maybe wrap his ribs but you're not sure what'll happen if you do it too tightly. Well, you can _imagine_ what would happen. Screaming. Maybe a popped lung if it goes that badly.

"Maybe we should just go to the hospital," you suggest, he immediately shakes his head. You're about to protest when he says, "we can't afford to, and you know I hate hospitals."

You bite down on your lip as you think, "Sam I don't know how to-"

"You just need to clean me up and bandage my ribs," he tells you quietly, "it's not that hard, princess."

"I don't want to hurt you," you breathe, and goodness knows there's enough of him broken. You move over to the bowl of saline you'd prepared; a mixture of salt and water that you boiled for fifteen minutes with a ridiculous rig you'd made out of Sam's lighter, the metal bowl, and a couple of metal sheets from the alley around the back. It's your attempt to disinfect any open wounds, something you learnt from the nuns, and it isn't going to be fun even if it is room temperature now. "I'm gonna have to hurt you, and I-" your voice cracks as you grip the table top.

"Y/N," his voice sounds so soft, so caring, God he's always putting other people before himself, "hey, look at me," you glance at him but you can't bare to spend more than a few moments looking into those worried hazel eyes. He's worried about you. "You're one of the strongest people I know," he breathes, "you can do _this_ , easy."

You let out a shaky breath, grab the cloth and dip it into the water, squeezing the excess out, then you cross to sit beside him, "this is going to sting like a bitch, Sam, and I'm sorry," you bring it up and start patting at his cheek, making sure you avoid his eyes - getting salt in his eye after everything else that's happened is the last thing you want - the moment the saline covered cloth touches his split lip he hisses. You can see that set in his jaw, the determination to not let you know how much he's hurting.

"It's okay if it hurts," you tell him quietly, "you won't be less of a man for admitting you're in pain." You see the facade waver and then slowly crumble, tears springing to his eyes. "You're gonna be okay, Sam, I'm here, I've got you. I'm gonna make it better." His hands rest on your waist, holding onto you as you wipe at the blood on his face, wipe away the broken Sam Drake before you. Before you know it you're picking up bandages, "I-I don't-"

"It's hurting me more like this," he tells you quietly. You nod, yeah, he's right. He holds the end of the bandage against his skin for you as you start unrolling it, pulling it taut around his chest. You're not sure you're doing anything correctly; you're probably making it worse, you're not a doctor, god you're not even sure if you're supposed to wrap broken ribs. You wish you could just drag him to the hospital, they're trained to deal with stuff like this.

You pin the bandage in place then start looking through his bag for something he can put on easily, you settle on a plain white t-shirt that looks like it'd be simple enough to hook over the arm he's having trouble raising, once it's firmly on his body you kneel on the floor by his feet to look at his hands. "How can I wrap these?" you ask him, "how do I bandage broken fingers?"

"You need to splint them," he tells you calmly. You worry your lip as you look around the room, trying to see something you can use. What do people use to splint broken fingers? Pens? Popsicle sticks? "Y/N?" You snap your head around to look up at him; he looks like there's a joke you've not been let in on. "My other fingers," he tells you. "You splint them with my other fingers."

You glance down at his hands, his broken fingers weren't next to each other, you could use his other- " _oh_." You grab the bandages and cut a piece off, wrapping it tightly around his broken finger and connecting it to the one beside it before safety pinning it in place. Then you use the other half to do the same with the second one. When you're done he looks... he looks really silly, honestly. "You look like Mr. Spock."

He rolls his eyes, grimacing slightly as he holds up his broken hands in two matching Vulcan salutes, "live long and prosper... you fucking doofus." You grin at him and he smiles fondly, lowering his hands into his lap.

"How do you feel now?" you ask him, "do you still hurt everywhere? Is it not as bad as it was?" He gives you a look that says it's definitely as bad and that was a very stupid question. "Come here," you stand up and help him to his feet, maneuvering him to the top of the bed, "lay down," his eyebrows raise but he does as he's told, making the worst noise you've ever heard as he flops onto the bed, rolling over himself with a horrible pained cry. "Sorry," you breathe, hands covering your mouth as your breath shakes; you didn't think about how much it'd hurt him.

"S'okay," he croaks, wriggling around until he's comfy, "hard to lay down with broken hands and broken ribs." You'd laugh at how ridiculous it was if it wasn't so miserable, if it didn't rip your heart in half. "What's the plan?"

You climb onto the bed and crawl to his side, "really careful cuddling," you tell him, "because you need it, and coz I can't stand seeing you like this, so I kinda need it too."

His lips twitch up, "alright, but I have to warn you, I might scream if you cuddle too hard-"

"Don't joke about it," you breathe, trying to wriggle closer to him, press yourself up next to him without hurting him, he sucks in a breath and you freeze, "too much?" he shakes his head, "no, no, you're fine." You rest your head on his shoulder and stay put, deciding that if he's gasping then maybe you shouldn't push him until he's making worse noises.

He turns his head to look at you, watching you for a few moments before he says, "so you got arrested?" Your cheeks flush slightly and you bite your lip, he grins, "naughty girl."

"Are you ever _not_ turned on?" you ask, shaking your head slightly, "Christ, Sam. Why am I even friends with you?"

He reaches over and rests his hand lightly on your hip, grimacing slightly at the pressure this puts on his ribs, "that all we are?" You pull away to look at him. "You used to love me-"

"When I was young and stupid," you breathe; Sam isn't the only one that needs convincing that that's the truth.

"You lost your virginity to me," he says, a little smugly, "I was your first kiss... you were mine."

"What?" You blink in disbelief, that was one of those lies, right? He's telling you what you want to hear.

His lips twitch up, "I've never told you that, have I? Yeah, you're a dirty thief who stole the greatest thief that ever lived's first kiss-" You laugh and he frowns, "what?"

"You're not that good," you tell him, "I mean, you're a good thief, don't get me wrong, but you've been caught an awful lot- I, on the other hand, have not."

"Because I've taken the fall for you," he says with raised eyebrows, you shake your head, "what have you been up to?"

You grin, "I may be as wanted as you."

He groans, "now I really am turned on," your lips twitch into a smirk, "can I kiss you?"

The question throws you; you've never really tried to rekindle anything since Crystal and that whole... _thing_. You were just happy being friends. Maybe... maybe just as an experiment. See if the feelings are still there. See if it still feels like your soul is burning. "Okay."

He closes the gap, brushing his lips against yours before pulling back with a pained hiss, "forgot about the lip," he mutters under his breath, bringing his hand up to touch the broken skin. You reach for his cheek and he closes the gap again, this time you make the first move and aim for the corner of his mouth to avoid the split entirely, kissing him tastes different than the last time - before he tasted like mint, now he tastes like blood and cigarettes. A mix of ash and iron in his breath, intermittently dancing on your tongue in a way that makes you want to pull away.

But you feel him smile into the lopsided kiss, his bandaged hands resting on your back, and suddenly you really want to deepen it, to feel your tongues touch, to feel his fingers unfasten your belt, and yours find his. You can feel heat between your legs and the flicker of a fire starting up inside your chest, the hand on his cheek moves to his hair, your lips moving against his not caring about the broken skin anymore. The hand you're resting on his stomach starts moving down- _click_.

You throw yourself almost violently away from him, barely managing to stay on the bed. It's the sound of a key in the lock, the sound of Victor returning with Nathan. Sam just rests his hands on the pillow behind his head, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he looks at your flushed cheeks, "knew you still liked me."

The door opens and Nathan pushes in first, crossing to see Sam. You almost fall off the bed as you get to your feet, rushing out of the room past Victor. "What's up with Y/N?" Nathan asks Sam, who just shrugs, still smug with himself. Victor watches after you for a moment, then clicks the door shut, following you.

~~

Victor finds you curled up next to a comically large potted plant, tears streaming down your cheeks, your knees pulled tightly up to your chest. He crouches in front of you, just watching for a few moments before he sighs and sits down, "what's wrong, kid? Did Sam do something?"

"I just realized there are a lot of old feelings there that've never gone away," you tell him, voice small, not moving your chin off your knees.

He nods - he's noticed it, "you're in love with him?" He's seen it in the way you move around him, the way you'll always gravitate towards him ever so slightly, your gaze lingering slightly on Sam, how you always seem to smile more when he's around... and get annoyed more.

"Yeah," it feels like a weight off your chest, "and I'm furious at him- he left me!" Victor nods, like he knows or understands; he doesn't, you've never talked about it. "He dumped me for a girl called Crystal, did you know that?"

"Yeah, kid, I did actually," he says, "Sam talks a lot when he's drunk." You look over at him and he smiles weakly, "he drinks a lot, kiddo, you're not the only one who's protecting people from him."

"Is he an alcoholic?" you ask, this does get you to lift your chin off your knees, "do we need to have an intervention-"

"No, no I've got it," he says, and for some reason - you _know_ he does, "I don't want you to worry about it. I know what I'm doing." You worry your lip anyway - this is Sam after all - watching him, he just nods, "do you trust me?"

"I guess I do," you say quietly, "just make sure you look after him, alright?" He nods and you continue to sit in silence for a few minutes before you say, "how do I stop loving him?"

"I don't know if you will, kid," he says, "not fully, anyway, it'll always be there, when you think about him you'll smile and wonder if he's doing alright, then you'll want to hear his voice- the ache in your chest will grow more and more painful every thought you have until you realize you never did stop loving him, you just started walking taller, pretending harder."

"You know from experience?" you ask, Victor's lips quirk into a smile that let you know all you need to, your own twitch up, "who?"

He shakes his head, "don't want to bore you," you offer some suggestions - a pretty girl from a bar, an air hostess - he chuckles, "something like that," you can tell it's neither, he just doesn't want to talk about it so you don't push.

"If I'll always love him..." you try to find the right way to word the question, "if it'll always be there-"

"You'll love other people," he tells you, somehow knowing exactly what you're trying to say, "there's enough love in your heart, and if it runs out- yknow what I've found, kid?"

"What?"

"You'll make more, the heart is a muscle after all, it'll keep going, unless it stops of course," Victor says, "if that happens- well, if that happens, you're dead, kid, I'm sorry to say."

Your lips twitch into a small smile, "yknow, I did not expect you to be the wise sage, Victor."

He shrugs, "I'm full of surprises," he smiles and reaches over to squeeze your shoulder, "and if all else fails, I've found alcohol and casual sex help a _lot_ ," you let out a surprised laugh - _that_ was definitely closer to what you were expecting him to say - "ready to go back inside, kid?" You nod and he stands back up, making a grunting noise as he stretches.

You bounce up onto your feet and reach out to help him, "hey, are you alright?"

"Not as young as I used to be," from his tone you're sure he's joking but the look on his face says not even he's certain he is.

You grin, trying to be reassuring, "you're not _that_ old," and hook your arm through his so you can walk back upstairs together.


	6. Locked Out of Heaven

Twenty six rolls around way too quickly and you're still pining for the boy with the cake, the kiss didn't go anywhere and the residual feelings left in your chest - the sticky goo coating your heart - stayed firmly where it was despite your desperate attempts to shake it. You tried dating other people, screwing other people, drinking until you couldn't remember Sam's name. Nothing worked, the goo remained.

It didn't feel fair, especially because now Samuel Drake - charming rogue, daring thief - had turned into one of the hottest men you've  _ ever seen _ in your  _ entire life _ . 

So, he'd always been hot, that wasn't in doubt. He'd always been devilishly handsome in that 'bad boy' way. But now... you need to take three showers a day because he keeps making your mind wander.

You're not supposed to be this turned on by your best friend, you're just not. You're also not supposed to still be in love with your best friend but... you are. Every time he looks at you with those hazel eyes you feel the world slowly stopping revolving, time slowly stopping ticking, you melt slowly into a puddle before him. Victor was right. You can't stop loving him.

He pushes through the door and you follow, trailing behind him as he takes the stairs two at a time up to the shitty apartment, backpack slung over his shoulder, cigarette still between his fingers. Nathan was out with a girl he'd been seeing, Victor was working on getting you equipment for a little side job you and Sam were looking into... you and he were supposed to just relax until this rich guy contacted you. Should be easy.

"What's this guy called again?" you ask.

"Rafe, I think," Sam says, fumbling to unlock the door, he pushes it and it sticks, then he sighs, booting it open with a grunt, you follow him in and collapse onto the sofa. He shuts and locks it, then drops his bag, grabbing the ashtray off the cabinet, moving it to the coffee table before he sits, tapping the ash off the cigarette into the tray. 

You kick your sneakers off and swing your feet up onto his lap, "so what time did 'Rafe' say he'd contact us?" Sam shrugs, you sigh. Great. "So what do you wanna do?"

"I dunno," he breathes, pausing as he takes a drag from the cigarette, "I guess we could do some more research," you groan, he smiles, "or we could go back out? Find a bar?" You groan again, he laughs. "What do  _ you  _ wanna do, princess?"

You hate it when he calls you that, it's like it sends your libido into overdrive, you can't explain it. His voice just does something to you, especially when he's got a cigarette between his lips and you're watching his fingers as they- "Princess?" you look at him and he's still smiling, "what do you wanna do?"

"You,"  _ fuck _ , for a second you really hope he didn't hear or that he'll believe you when you say he misheard, but from the smirk that forms on his lips and the mischievous glint in his eye... yeah, he heard you.  _ Definitely  _ heard you. He leans forward and stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray. You're not sure who makes the first move, if it's you launching yourself at him or if he grabs you but you very quickly become a mass of desperate tangled limbs. His hands on your ass, your fingers in his hair, his tongue in your mouth, the taste of nicotine so strong on his breathe...

You groan, giving into lust, giving into the throbbing between your legs. You want Sam and you're tired of fighting it. His lips on your neck, stubble scratching at your skin, your legs wrapping around his waist, your fingers raking at the t-shirt on his back. "I need you," you whimper, "please-"

He squeezes your ass, then moves his hands to unfasten your belt, quickly unbuckling it  and tugging it from the loops on your jeans. You fumble with his, your fingers clumsy as you try to push the worn brown leather through the buckle, he nudges your hands out of the way and unfastens it himself, unbuttoning his jeans before he goes back to yours. He's already got the zip down and is working them down your thighs, "Sam-" your eyes meet his, "please."

He pushes your panties to the side and slides his fingers against your clit, your mouth finding his as you rock your hips against him desperately, he teases you until you're on the edge of climax then pulls his hand away smirking down at you. You whine, trying to catch his wrist, he snatches his hand out of the way and you huff out a breath, moving your own hand down in an attempt to get yourself off. Sam just slaps it away, shaking his head at the attempt, you groan in frustration and run your hands through your hair.

He tugs his black tee over his head and suddenly you no longer care about not being allowed to come, you  _ know  _ it'll be worth it. He unzips his jeans and shoves them down, you ask, "do you have condoms?"

He pushes his underwear down and your eyes widen, you'd forgotten how big he is. You continue watching as he searches his pockets, plucking a condom out which you take from him, tearing open the packet and rolling it onto his cock. "I remember when you were too innocent to know how condoms worked-"

You roll your eyes, correcting him, "ignorant, I was ignorant," you sigh, "I'm not that sixteen year old girl anymore, Sam - you're not that boy either, I mean,  _ look at you _ ." 

He chuckles, "I could say the same about you, princess," he tugs your jeans and panties down to your knees then helps you over onto your stomach, "you alright like this?" he breathes, kissing down your spine. 

You nod, "yes," he lifts your hips up and you whimper, trying to open your legs, Sam's hands grip your hips in an attempt to hold you still. 

"What do you want, princess?"

You groan, "I want  _ you _ ," you feel him squeeze lightly and you take it to mean he isn't satisfied with you answer, "I-I want you to fuck me," you whimper, "please, Sam, fuck me, I  _ need  _ you to fuck me."

"Good answer," he purrs, you feel his cock press up against your entrance and he just stops; you feel like you're being tortured, like he wants you to beg him until you're tearing your hair out of your head in frustration. You push your hips back and he catches them, but not before you manage to get the head inside. 

You whimper, "please, Sam, I need-  _ please _ ," you know how desperate you sound - any other day it'd be embarrassing. You feel his breath against your neck, his lips trailing from your ear down to your shoulder, "please?"

"You don't need to beg, princess," he breathes, "I'm going to give you exactly what you want," his hips push forward, only slightly, just enough to tease you, then he pulls back again, you whimper trying to push yourself back against him, you hear him chuckle.

"I swear to god, Sam, if you don't-" His hips snap forward, his cock stretching you out as it slowly slides into you, inch by inch, all you can muster in response is a groan that gets muffled by the couch cushions, your fingernails digging hopelessly into the fabric as your back arches under him.

He rocks his hips drawing a cacophony of muffled whimpers out of you, then he pulls his hips back and slams his cock back into you, hand running down your spine, a loud desperate moan comes up your throat. "That's it, good girl," he breathes, fingers tracing your spine, dipping as they follow the arch in your lower back, he slowly rocks his hips again and you gasp, trying to move your knees further apart.

" _ Sam _ ," it's a desperate sound; a whimpering moan that tells him everything he needs to know;  _ enough teasing _ . He grips your hips tightly and thrusts into you, quickly setting up a fast pace that leaves you breathless as moan after moan force their way up your throat. You couldn't stop them even if you tried to. You can feel your orgasm building back up, climbing its way to an impossible height, "Sam-"

He reaches between your legs, fingers finding your clit, it only takes a few strokes and you're screaming his name as you come around him, you hear him groan - low and throaty, his pace slowing slightly, and you swear you could come again from that sound alone.

He keeps moving slowly until you're moaning for him to go faster, begging him once more to just, " _ please _ , Sam- fuck me harder,  _ faster _ ," he speeds up again. You arch your back, feeling his cock brush your spot, a gasp slips from your lips and you start pushing your hips back but with his iron grip holding you in place you can barely move. " _ Sam- _ "

His grip loosens just enough for you to meet his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping together filling the room along with desperate moans, gasping breaths, even what sounds like pieces of prayers. His hand slides between your legs once more, fingers easily finding your clit to set up a pace matching his thrusts. It doesn't take much longer for his movements to become erratic, he completely loses his rhythm and you don't care. You're close. You just need-

Sam bites down on your shoulder, your walls clench around him as your second orgasm hits quickly, unexpectedly, and with a near blinding intensity, his name tearing its way out of your throat like shards of glass. Sam's groan is muffled by your skin, his thrusts deep and sloppy as his hips slowly come to a stop, cock still buried deep inside you, fingers digging into your hips almost uncomfortably. 

" _ Fuck _ ," your arms tremble as you try to push yourself up, then suddenly you're lying flat on your stomach with no air in your lungs; you suck in a gasping breath realizing that Sam has collapsed onto you, his panting breaths on the back of your neck, his stomach muscles trembling against your lower spine. 

"Sorry," he breathes as he tries to push himself up on his own shaking arms, "fuck, I'm sorry-"

"Stay there until you're ready to move; it's fine," you breathe, " _ I'm _ fine," although he is surprisingly heavy and you're not sure how long you can stay under him before you get crushed.

"No, I've got it," he pulls his hips back so he slips out of you before he rolls, he hits the floor with a grunt and you glance down at him, lips twitching up in amusement. "I'm okay," he breathes.

"Sam, did we-?"

"Come at the same time?" he asks, finishing your question for you, you nod, "yeah, yeah we did, high five?" He sticks his hand up for you, your lips twitch up and you reach out to high five him, he laces his fingers with yours and holds onto it until your breath returns to you and you're ready to get up. Then you push yourself up, trying to avoid stepping on him as you stand to fix your clothes.

"Wanna go to bed for a bit?" you ask him, his lips twitch up as he continues watching you from his place on the floor. 

"Yknow, you look really good from this angle," he sounds smug; he's Sam, it's typical for him to sound some variation of smug,  _ especially  _ after you've begged him to fuck you, after he's drawn noises out of you that you didn't even know you could make... that'll make a person smug.

"Yeah, I'll bet," you smile fondly, shaking your head, "take off the condom and lets go to bed, Sam, come on-" You feel a hard tug on your jeans, one that pulls you slightly off balance, "what are you doing?"

"Come here," he reaches up for you and a sigh huffs out of your lungs, your hands going to your hips, "come here," he repeats, firmer this time, more insistent; you know you're not going to change his mind.

You crouch down next to him and he pulls you into his arms, "can you just-" as if reading your mind he reaches down and tugs the condom off, quietly asking you if that's better. "Well, your dick is still out but I suppose," you mumble. He leans in and peppers your face with kisses, "Sam," you laugh, "Sam-"

"What?" he grins against your skin, then starts planting more kisses, lingering kisses that leave you wishing they were against your lips, purposely wet kisses that make you both annoyed and amused.

"Sam, put your dick away," you breathe, trying to push him away from you just so you can avoid any more wet marks on your face from his spit.

"You weren't complaining about my dick being out a few minutes ago," he whispers, leaning in close to your ear, "in fact, I think it was quite the opposite."

"Shut up," you smile, he backs up to press a short sweet kiss to your lips, his fingers brushing your damp cheek, when he pulls back you still have a smile on your face, "I hate you."

"Yeah, I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS: If you're here for the smut make sure you come back for Chapter 12. Unless it's already up in which case... you know what you need to do.


	7. Rafe Adler

The first time you meet up with Rafe Adler in person is a year later, Sam has already met with him a few times to discuss things but you and Nathan have yet to be introduced to him officially.

When you meet him it's in a crowded cafe in the middle of Paris; you're not entirely sure why you're meeting in Paris and not somewhere more... _local_ to the four of you, like somewhere _inside_ the States. Maybe it's Rafe's way of showing off, or maybe he's just trying to tell you that you could do with a vacation. Either way, sitting in that cafe eating actual French pain au chocolat... you're definitely appreciating it. Sam nudges you and your head snaps up, "huh?"

A smile plays across his lips, "you paying attention? Or are you too lost in your chocolate thing?"

"Chocolate thing," you breathe, your cheeks flushing slightly out of embarrassment.

Rafe chuckles across the table, "Samuel, let the lady enjoy, she might never get the opportunity to eat French pastries _in_ France again."

"No, I'm, uh- I'm paying attention," you insist, although you're not very convincing and they know that the moment they start speaking again you're going to get lost in the delicious chocolate croissant on the plate in front of you, "what were you saying?"

Sam smiles, repeating the last few minutes of conversation, something about a cross and something about a prison. You frown. "This thing about a prison-"

"Ruins _next to_ a prison," Nathan interrupts, "Sam and I have been discussing-"

"Behind my back?" you ask, cutting him off mid-sentence, "you've been discussing breaking into a prison to explore ruins behind my back."

They hesitate, glancing at each other across the table, Sam seems concerned, Nathan just shrugs and lets out a sigh, "I told you she'd be mad."

"Of course I'm mad, you idiots," you snap, your hands balling into fists as they slam on the table, the noise drawing a lot of concerned looks from the other customers, "you've been going behind my back, discussing things that I should get a say in, things that concern my future as much as yours, am I part of this or not?"

"We thought it would be better, for your own safety-" Rafe starts.

"No offense but I don't know you," you blurt, interrupting him without a seconds hesitation, "I really don't give a fuck what you think."

He seems taken aback but then he smiles, "I can see why you're so infatuated with her, Samuel, she's just like you." Sam seems nervous. "As I was saying, we thought it would be better for you if you sat out the 'prison' part. You don't need to go in there-"

You smile, "funny how men like to do that, huh? Decide what women can do, what they can handle?"

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it," Rafe says, still with an air of eerie calm about him, "you don't need to get defensive, it's a men's prison -  there are no women in there, you would stick out like a sore thumb."

You hesitate, "it would be a little bit obvious," you admit - you almost hate that you're agreeing with him. You can't even imagine what would happen if you successfully did manage to infiltrate the prison with them, only for your cover to be blown. You'd be trapped in a prison full of men who think they're never going to see a woman again. You almost throw up your pain au chocolat.

"Yeah," Sam says, "we just don't want you going in there and getting hurt, it'll be better if you stay at a motel until we're done then we can continue together."

"Okay," you breathe, the last embers of the fiery anger dying in your chest; you're gonna stay behind, "so while you're in prison, what will I be doing?"

"You're our back up," Nathan says, "you stay at a motel, research as much as you can, on the day we'll be escaping you'll have our bags packed and ready to go, if anything goes wrong-"

"What do you mean by 'wrong'?" you ask, "like one of you dies or-"

"Like our escape plan fails and we get stuck in there," Nathan says, seemingly pretty confident that this was all going to go perfectly to plan, that they were all coming back. That they were going to infiltrate a Panamanian prison, explore ruins, and escape the prison again without anything going disastrously wrong. It's almost laughable, really, but you admire his optimism.

" _If_ we get stuck, our escape fails, _whatever_ ," he continues, drawing your attention back to him, "it's your job to figure out a way to get us out."

Your eyebrows shoot up, "and how the hell am I supposed to do that? Call Victor and ask him to bring the plane?"

"It's an option," Nathan shrugs.

You shake your head, looking down at the pastry in front of you, you suddenly don't want to finish it. "Sam?" you look up at him, his hazel eyes meeting yours, "promise me you'll come back."

"I promise," he breathes.

~~

It takes a long time to get all the parts in motion for the Panama job and by the time you do another year has passed you by. They seem to be going so fast now, you almost wish you could slow down time, just stop and enjoy the view for a little while.

Maybe go on a date with Sam, just once before he leaves.

They were going to be gone for weeks, trying to establish that they weren't doing anything suspicious before they did do something suspicious. Sam had learnt Spanish. Like, a _lot_ of Spanish. You were completely okay with that, especially when he started whispering it raggedly in your ear while he had his cock buried in you. He'd decided to learn the dirtiest stuff first - like that'd matter in a Panamanian prison - and then learn the basics. You're pretty sure he could say, 'come for me,' before he could say, 'hello.'

"Sam?" You sit up on the bed, watching him working at the desk, he glances over his shoulder quickly then holds up some papers, you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest in frustration, you collapse back onto the bed with a loud huff.

"What is it, princess?" he asks, chuckling slightly as he adds, "is the bed cold without me?"

"Can we go out for dinner? Get dressed up and forget about these stupid ruins for just _one night_ , please?" You hope you don't sound desperate or needy, then again - you _are_ desperate, you _are_ needy. "I just want to spend time with you before you go, is that too much to ask?"

The bed shifts as he climbs on beside you - apparently the papers don't matter _that_ much - he lays facing you for a moment, a sizable gap between you, then he sighs and moves closer, nuzzling into your neck. "If you want one night, I'll give you that night," he says, "I'd rather have a lifetime but-"

You glance over at him and he smiles, "I kinda really love you, princess."

"I hate you for leaving, you know that, right?"

He grins, "you'll forgive me eventually, you always do, right?" You shake your head, smiling fondly, yeah, it's almost a character flaw at this point, forgiving the unforgivable because the guy doing it is a master thief who plucked your heart out of your chest years ago.

"How about a romantic dinner tonight, then we come back here for dessert?" he grins, your lips twitch up, he leans in to whisper in your ear, "your pussy is the only dessert I want, mi corazón."

You roll over, pushing him onto his back as you straddle his hips, "how about you fuck me now, we order in, and then we spend the rest of the night making up for the next two weeks?"

"You were always better at coming up with plans than me," he grins.


	8. A Prison in Panama

Sam climbs off you, staring up at the motel room ceiling as you both try to catch your breath. You figured that since this'd be the last time you'd see him for a few weeks, you might as well send him off properly. Plus, you needed to commit his every touch to memory so you could use it while he was gone.

You glance over at him, rolling onto your side to face him, "promise me you won't be gone too long," you breathe, heart racing in your chest; you already hate the idea of him being gone for weeks if he was gone for a year, god, even a few _months_ , you wouldn't be able to bear it. You'd miss him too much.

His lips twitch up and he rolls onto his side to close the gap between you, he presses a short sweet kiss to your lips, "I promise," his fingers thread through yours, holding your hand.

"Promise me that you'll _always_ come back to me," your voice cracks, your fear for his safety becoming extremely evident; you don't want him to know how scared you are but your shaking voice and worried eyes give it away. "Promise me, Sam."

"Always," he breathes, "I'll always come back, I promise you," he peppers your face with soft kisses and your eyes close, the smallest hint of a smile forming on your lips. "I love you too much to leave you."

"I love you, too." He lets go of your hand and you feel his arm slide over your hip, pulling you into his arms. You hate him for having to leave. You're still furious you can't go with him. You resent the three of them for making you stay but someone needs to keep researching, someone needs to be working behind-the-scenes, and fuck if it wouldn't be way too obvious - it's too dangerous, Sam just wants to keep you safe. You understand that.

His fingers trace patterns on your hip; it's getting harder to stay awake, you're so tired, especially after what Sam just did. "Sleep, princess," he breathes, "I'll come home to you."

"Don't go," you breathe, your eyes closing, with your head resting against his chest you can hear his breathing and heartbeat and it's getting harder to stay awake with them acting as your lullaby. "Stay."

"Okay," he breathes, and you know he's humoring you; you know that when you open your eyes he's going to be gone. You feel tears spill down your cheeks, stinging your eyes, your hand grabs his bicep and holds on firmly, nails digging lightly into his skin.

"I love you," he strokes his fingers through your hair, fingers skimming your bare back and shoulders. " _I'll come home_ ." You press yourself tighter against him, hoping that if you hold on, if you wrap him up in your limbs, he won't be able to go. He'll _have_ to stay. He'll be stuck in bed with you instead. Your legs wrap around his, your hand moving from his arm to his back.

You fall asleep like that, limbs wrapped around Sam like you're an octopus, clinging to the hope that you'll see his smiling face when you wake up.

~~

When you do wake up you're laying curled on your side of the bed facing the opposite way. You roll over quickly, hand grabbing for him but Sam's already gone. Your heart sinks, _he really left_. You sit up and look around, noticing that there's a note on your bedside cabinet.

You're not entirely sure you're ready to read it, to see his goodbye. You avoid it as long as you can instead choosing to get up and go to the bathroom, have a shower, get dressed, even do some research.

Then you realize you can't pretend you aren't avoiding it any longer, that sooner or later you're going to have to see his handwriting and his name. See what he'd said. He is coming back, after all. So you pick it up and curl up on his side of the bed, preparing yourself as well as you can to read it.

' _I was never good at saying goodbye; not to my mother at her funeral, not to my father when he abandoned us... not to you. It's just too hard, there's too much emotion. I was never good with emotions, you know that, you've seen it first hand; I'm a fucking hurricane._

_I was debating going without leaving a letter, just kissing your forehead and letting you wake up to find I've already gone. I thought it'd be easier that way. I realized that was selfish. The only person that'd be good for is myself, then I don't have to feel it but you will... you'll be forced to feel all of it. The least I can do is put your mind at ease. See, here's the thing; I love you. I will love you from now until the end of time._

_I may not be good at goodbyes, I may not be good at feeling things, and god knows I might not be the best human being. But I love you, and for some reason - some miraculous reason - you love me too. So hold onto that while I'm away, alright, princess? Along with the promise that I'll come back for you always._

_If anything happens, if I don't-'_ there are several crossed out words- _'make it, keep an eye on Nathan for me, I've told him to keep an eye on you, too. Just... make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Make sure he doesn't end up like me, alright? He deserves so much better from his life; he deserves happiness, fortune, love. God, he deserves a whole world of good things. Keep him alive for me, I trust you, I know you will._

_I'll see you soon, princess, and hopefully we'll be onto bigger and better things than a Panamanian prison._

_\- Sam._ '

You read through it a hundred more times in the weeks that followed, choosing to ignore the fourth paragraph and focus on the third. You don't want to think about the possibility of his permanent incarceration or, worse yet, his _death_. You don't want to imagine any of them getting stuck, hurt, or dying. It's unthinkable. Sam is the love of your life, Nathan is family, and Rafe... is growing on you. Slowly. He's a hard man to get used to.

You sit and pass time by researching, listening to music quietly, you even call Sullivan and spend an hour talking to him despite it costing you a small fortune. You talk about everything under the sun from the weather in Panama to _cheese_ , but in the end he hangs up. Has a 'friend' coming over. By the tone his voice takes, you take it to mean he has a woman coming over.

The day of their escape rolls around slowly, like someone trying to run a marathon on crutches, and when it finally arrives you spend the entire day either worriedly pacing or continuing to attempt your research. Not that you'd actually managed to get much of it done over the past few weeks; you kept imagining them being killed, all three of them laying there dead, their blood mingling together as it coats the floor. You dread the very idea.

Nathan should have already gotten to the ruins, they should already have what they're looking for. Sam would've likely figured most of it out by now, too, if Nate hadn't already.

You pace.

Soon.

They'll be back soon.

_Sam_ will be back soon.


	9. A Choice Made for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from a piece of dialogue in the Tomb Raider reboot; "sacrifice is a choice you make, loss is a choice made for you."

When the door crashes open you jump to your feet, darting towards the men as they stumble inside. Rafe slams the door shut and you feel your stomach twist. Nathan's eyes are red - he's been crying, heavily. You can feel the tension in the air, the heaviness of the words that haven't yet been said. "Where's Sam?" you ask, dreading the answer you're about to receive.

Nathan just breaks down sobbing, his hands coming up to cover his face. Your stomach churns and it feels like razor wire is cutting through your vital organs. "Where-" your voice cracks, emotion choking you off. Tears spring from your eyes. 

"He didn't make it," Rafe says as softly as you've ever heard him speak. You glance at him, then at Nathan who's laying sprawled on the floor, a sobbing mess.

"No," you feel your knees buckle and Rafe catches you as they give out, your world falling to pieces in giant chunks around you. "No!" 

Your throat burns; you're pretty sure you're screaming, you feel sick; stomach doing flips in your abdomen, you're angry; you lash out at Rafe and you're pretty sure you manage to punch him at least once, there's an ache in your chest that you're confident will never go away. "No, no, no-" you sound like a broken record, one that you're confident will never become unstuck. 

"He's gone," - no, he  _ can't  _ be gone, you just saw him a few weeks ago with a smile on his face and that look in his eyes, he kissed you and he told you he loved you.  _ Loves  _ you. He promised he'd come back. You fight Rafe off you and clamber to your feet, darting from the room. This is a sick joke, he's not dead. He's outside. He's waiting for you on his bike in the street with that shit-eating grin, that way too smug glint in his eye.

It feels like the walls are closing in on you as you run down the corridor, down the stairs, you slam into the front door, violently falling onto your knees in the dirt. You look up. Standing there just like you expected, a few feet away, leaning against his bike, his fingers holding a cigarette up to his lips as he takes another drag... is Sam. A grin forms on your face - you  _ knew  _ it was a joke. 

You push yourself up to your feet, taking your eyes off him for just a second as you brush the dirt off of you, then your eyes go to meet his- "Sam?"

As you glance around the empty lot you feel the world crumble again and your breath slowly being taken from you, "Sam?!" you look around then arms wrap around you. You struggle against them and fall to the floor, they're not Sam's arms. You'd recognize Sam's arms, you'd recognize his scent. It's not him. The person crouches beside you and rubs at your back, you glance over and see Nathan, tears still running down his cheeks. 

"I know how difficult it is," he tells you, trying to pull you into his arms, you lash out at him, hitting his chest, "you've gotta go back inside," you shake your head and try to pull away from him, you need to know where that bike went- "you're just gonna stay here forever?" You glare at him; of course you're not, you're gonna follow that bike. "If you won't come back inside for me, do it for Sam, he wouldn't want you to sit in the dirt sobbing."

You feel your fight die again at the mention of his name, your heart sinking in your chest, "tell me he's still alive," you breathe, "tell me this is a joke, Nathan, please-"

"I-" he can't hold his voice steady, his entire body starting to shake as he tries to hold back a flood of tears, "we were on the prison roof, almost out, all we had to do was hop the fence. He jumped across, I caught him - he was hanging off the roof - and then he got shot." You feel your stomach flip, "blood splattered out of his mouth," Nathan tells you, you can feel bile working its way up your throat, "he started slipping and then he fell, I watched him hit the roof below, I watched him fall  _ through  _ it," you retch, Nathan managing to grab your hair and pull it back out of the way as you throw up.

You look up at him, teary eyed and desperate, you ask, "did you see him  _ die _ ?" 

There's a moment of hesitation, slight realization, "no," then he pulls you to your feet, "if he survived the fall and the gunshots-" then you're rushing back inside, running back upstairs falling over each other to get there. It's unlikely, so  _ incredibly  _ unlikely. But god - one spark of hope is all you needed.

You crash back through the door, "Rafe we need to-" he's sat on the bed, cellphone in hand, looking through the phone book.

"I'm already doing it," he says simply, like you're both ten steps behind him. Maybe you are. You rush to his side and sit down, looking over his shoulder as he searches for the phone number. 

Eventually one of you spots it and he hands the phone to Nathan, "should be you." You can feel your stomach churning as you listen to Nathan talking to the person on the phone, asking them if-

"He's..." his voice cracks, "are you sure?" He runs a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes almost angrily. When he hangs up by throwing the phone across the room, it splintering into a dozen pieces against the wall... you know he's really gone.

"Did he-"

"His neck broke in the fall," Nathan says. It's exactly what you want to hear, and you know he's only saying it to reassure you that he didn't suffer. The Drake brothers have never been the best liars, but they'll  _ always  _ tell you what you want to hear, sometimes you just look past the glaringly obvious faults in their stories to believe them because if you don't it'll rip your heart out.

"He bled to death, didn't he?" you whimper, unable to get the image of Sam laying there broken out of your mind, he likely would've broken bones if he fell from as high as they said, and if he laid there and bled out- "they just stood there and watched-" he would've felt  _ so alone _ .

He nods, a tense set in his jaw as it clenches, "that's what they said, yeah." You see his whole demeanor change, he relaxes slightly then seems to collapse in on himself, "I- I just don't believe them. We need to find a way to get back in there- Y/N, would you be willing to-"

"No," Rafe snaps, suddenly unable to keep quiet anymore, "no, you're not sending her in there to do what we fucking did, Nathan. Look at what happened to Samuel-"

"I'll do it," you say quietly, "if I just have to get in, find him, then... then get us both out, I'll do it." You shrug, "I'd walk through fire for him, you know that."

"You say that like we didn't see him get shot and fall through a roof, haven't been  _ told  _ he's dead-" Rafe almost yells, he huffs out a shaky breath, then says in a eerily calm tone, "what will you do when you get in there and he  _ is  _ dead?"

"I'll bring him home," you say, already wondering how you're going to manage to carry Sam's semi-conscious injured form let alone his dead body, he not going to be light; Sam's a big guy. You're screwed.

Nathan looks like he's considering it, but Rafe's already shaking his head, "absolutely not - you're both forgetting, once again, that it's a  _ men's  _ prison - I'll bribe a guard for information, it's less dangerous."

You and Nathan exchange a glance, "it'll work," Rafe insists, "if he's in there, a couple thousand dollars will find him."

~~

When you go to meet the guard you're feeling more than a little anxious, like you're having a never ending panic attack, like you're never going to be able to breathe right ever again. You sit in the near-empty cafe and wait, you notice a few people looking your way, watching you, seems the three of you stick out like a sore thumb around here. 

The guard shows up twenty minutes late, hands you a notebook then leaves again without saying a single word. Rafe pays the bill then you all head back to the motel, gathering on the bed to look at what you've been given.

It's a copy of the inmate log. You find Rafe and Nathan in there easily, both listed as having escaped, that they're wanted for killing a prison guard. "You did  _ what- _ "

"It was him," Nathan points at Rafe, "he stabbed him."

"Let's not point fingers," Rafe says, knocking his hand away, "no one is to blame for what happened to Sam. It could have been any of us."

"If you hadn't stabbed the guy we would've gotten out fine," Nathan says. You sigh and rub at your eyes, this isn't how you wanted this day to go. You wanted one day, just _ one fucking day _ , without the two of them bickering.

Then Nate turns the page and dozens of photos fall out. Photos taken of Sam's injuries. Blood splattered skin, gaping exit wounds, his face with blood splattering his lips, a very broken looking nose. You feel your stomach start churning - you could do with one day without that too. Then you see the writing; written in red hand ' _ deceased _ .' A sob breaks from your chest and Nathan reaches over to squeeze your hand. 

"His lips aren't blue, his skin still has some color in it," you breathe, picking up one of the pictures to get a closer look, trying to push the sorrow down, distance yourself from what you're seeing, "he was still alive when these were taken," Nathan moves to wrap an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple, tears spill down your cheeks. 

Laying there dying in photographs is the last time you'll ever see your best friend, the man you love, alive, and it's too much to bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say thank you for sticking with me this far, for all the kudos and comments. It means the world to me ❤❤


	10. My Heart is a Storm

The cold air stings your cheeks, and your lips haven't been anything but chapped and cracked for weeks. Your fingers find your coat zipper and tug it up higher, adjusting your scarf. So far, you  _ hate  _ Scotland. It's way too cold.

You're not even sure what you're supposed to be looking for. Nathan tried to explain it but you kept zoning out, wondering if Sam would be complaining about the cold as much as you are. You can't stop thinking about him. Nathan seems to be coping alright, throwing himself into the research, into the work, trying to find what he's looking for. Actually now that you think about it, maybe that isn't the best way to cope either.

You're still heartbroken. You can barely even drag yourself out of bed most days, fuck, you can barely even sleep most days. It's too hard, too much, you just wish Sam was beside you. It feels wrong without him. You'd kept his clothes from Panama, packed them up and brought them with you. You sleep in one of his shirts; when it gets really bad you put one of them on a pillow and cuddle that in the hopes that when you open your eyes Sam will be laying there instead and the whole thing will have just been a horrible nightmare. So far that plan hadn't worked.

The whole ordeal seemingly hasn't affected Rafe, and even though he hasn't said anything yet you can tell he's getting angry with you; annoyed at how emotional you're being. He doesn't seem to  _ feel  _ anything, or if he does it's all compartmentalized and controlled. If he even cared about Sam, his grief is locked away somewhere tight, deep down inside, and he isn't letting it show, not even though a single crack in those sky high walls he's built up.

Nathan squeezes your shoulder and you smile weakly up at him, "hey," you breathe.

"It's good to see you down here," he tells you, pulling you into a hug. It isn't until this moment that you realize how much you've failed Sam, how much you fucked up. Nathan hasn't slept in days, you can see it around his eyes; he's skinnier than before, lost some of his muscle mass, you can tell he hasn't been eating. He crumbles in your arms and you end up struggling to hold up his weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he sobs.

"I know," you breathe, "it fucking sucks," you steer him towards a nearby crate and have him sit down, climbing onto his lap; it's easier that way, he's as much of a giant as his brother. "We're gonna get through it, we have to."

"What if we don't?" Nathan asks, "what if all that's left is pain? I can't-"

You pull him into a tight hug, "I feel the same," you tell him quietly, "you have to believe it's going to get easier, you have to, okay, because... because I can't lose you too, Nathan," you lean back to look at his face, "you're my brother and I'm not losing you, we'll get through this together."

He nods, "yeah, h-how've you been? No one's seen you in days, I was worried I'd break down your door and find you-" his voice cracks.

"No, I'd never do that to you," you tell him, shaking your head, "I just... I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't stop crying. No use around here like that."

"You haven't been eating the food I've been leaving for you," he says, "did you eat  _ anything _ ?"

You shake your head, "I don't think so, no," you worry your lip then say, "why don't we both go get something to eat right now? Go find a burger place or something." His lips twitch into a weak smile and he nods.

~~

An hour later and you're sitting in a burger place in a town a few miles away, your feet are pulled up onto your seat, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs as you eat. You're aware people are looking at you weird. Who'd blame them really, two American's walk into a burger joint in Scotland looking like they haven't slept in a month, order enough food for five people, then sit down and start eating. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.

The sort Sam used to tell you. You feel your heart sink again, Nathan notices immediately and asks if you'd like to go. "No, I'm still hungry," you tell him, "I'll... I can hold it together."

"You shouldn't have to," he breathes, "you should be allowed to grieve," he reaches across the table and takes your hand, giving it a light squeeze. 

"I've been grieving, I'm tired, Nathan," you say quietly, "I just want to eat my food, then go to bed and actually sleep."

He nods, "would it help if I stayed with you while you slept?" Your eyebrows raise, "not like that," he promises, "keep guard, sit and quietly research, draw or something," you feel your shoulders relax slightly, "would that help?" 

"I think so," you breathe, "yeah."

When you both had eaten enough food for a small village you head back to the place Rafe is renting, you go upstairs and take a long hot shower before you change into your warmest pajamas, then you call Nathan up. 

He passes you in the doorway with a small smile, a collection of history books under his arm along with some pencils and a sketchbook. Looks like he's planning on staying for the long haul. Then he hands you something warm, a silver thermos, "thought it might help," he shrugs, "hot cocoa," you go up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek, he smiles, "best brother ever, right?"

You laugh, "best I could ever ask for," you agree, crossing to your bed while he gets himself arranged at your desk, you unscrew the thermos' cup lid and smell at the contents. You've always loved Nate's hot cocoa, Sam didn't seem to know the difference between hot cocoa and sludge. You smile to yourself; you're greatful for at least one good thing today, Nathan Drake. Losing Sam was unbearable, it still is, but losing both of the Drake brothers is unthinkable.

You pour some of the cocoa into the cup, blowing on it slightly before you take a sip, relaxing back into your pillows. "If he could be here he'd tell you he's proud of you," Nate says, "that he loves you and he's amazed by how strong you are."

"He'd tell you the same things, you know," you breathe, "we've just gotta get through it somehow. Sam would want that for us." 

He nods, "it's just so hard."

"Yeah," you sigh, "I know."


	11. An Unexpected Birthday Present

You moved on, you let your heart be broken, let yourself grieve. You pulled yourself back together and built yourself back up again. But there were a handful of days where staying in one piece was harder than you'd care to admit. One of them was his birthday, one was the day anniversary of the day you last saw him, one was the anniversary of the day he died, and one was your birthday.

Standing there in your apartment kitchen on your forty-third birthday, wishing more than anything that you could see that smug smirk one last time... just for a moment, you come to a realization; you can barely even remember what he looked like. Out of sheer frustration and determination, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands clutching the counter top as you try to will his face into your memory. Try to remember. What did he look like? Hazel eyes, smug smirk, cigarette.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your frustrating mind game, you sigh as you let go of the counter and head to the door, pulling it open without pausing to think about checking who it is first. Whoever it is, it's not going to be him, is it?

His eyes meet yours and for a second you think it could be him. It could actually be him. The man on your doorstep looks almost exactly like- just... _older_ . He's older, and he has a _neck tattoo_ ... you wonder what _that's_ about, if it's all some sort of joke your brain is making or if the man in front of you really does look like- "told you I'd come back," he breathes. You feel your stomach clench, the room spin and he catches you as your knees give, hoisting you back onto your feet and helping you across to the sofa.

You look up at him in shock, in horror, in complete and utter _awe_ . He feels like home. "You're dead," you say, "how are you- did _I die_? What happened?"

He chuckles, "oh, you know what they say, princess, the reports of my death were _greatly_ exaggerated."

"You're really here? You're really alive?" you ask, he nods and a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into a tight hug; you're immediately enveloped by warmth and the smell of cigarette smoke, his worn denim jacket slightly scratchy against your skin - he's really alive, he's really here, this is actually happening. "Have you told Nathan?"

"Yep," he breathes, "went to see him first, hope you don't mind," he pulls back slightly to look down at your face, into your teary eyes, "happy birthday, princess."

"You remembered?" you breathe, like that actually matters. You don't give a fuck that it's your birthday anymore. Sam's home.

"Course I did," he grins, "what was it... twenty-seven? Twenty-seven years ago today you lost your virginity," your cheeks flush and he laughs, "I've got something for you out in the hall, want me to go get it?"

"I swear to god if you disappear on me again I'm gonna hunt you down and-" he presses a kiss to your forehead and your voice dies, "kiss me."

"You, uh... you haven't got a husband lurking around here anywhere? Or a wife? I'm not gonna kiss you if it's-"

"No, I..." you shake your head, "no, I couldn't. I tried to, after... I tried to date again but none of them were you so I just gave up, decided I'd die alone instead."

He's quiet for a moment, just watching you, "well," he breathes, huffing out a sigh, "that's depressing," your lips quirk up, "least I'm back now, though, huh? So you don't have to die alone." You're about to ask if that means he's staying when he says, "I'm going to be working with Sullivan, I was hoping you'd want to join us."

You nod, "try and stop me," he laughs and you cup his cheeks, "now kiss me, Samuel Drake, for the love of God-"

"Ooh, taking the lord's name in vain, what a rebel," he says, closing the gap between you, when your lips meet it's like nothing has ever changed. Like no time had passed, like... like he hadn't died and come back to life _somehow_ \- you push him off you gasping, "how _are_ you still alive?"

"Oh! Right," he lifts up his shirt and the first thing you notice is the bullet scars, the second thing is that he's kept in shape. "Patched me up and tossed me right back into the cell," he tells you, your fingers reach to touch them and he shrinks back away from you.

"Do they hurt?" you ask quietly, he shakes his head, you press your fingers against them, "then I don't mind. They were cauterized?" He confirms that they were and you ask, "did they use anesthetic?"

"Yep."

"Sam-" you know he's lying from how fast he answered. He's done it as long as you've known him, "you don't need to protect me from this; were you in pain?"

He nods, "it was like they were sticking a red hot poker into my flesh, so... yeah, I was."

You lean up and brush your lips against his again, "I'm so sorry that happened to you," he leans into it, chasing you slightly as he captures your lips with his, the kiss doesn't last long before he pulls back.

"I'm gonna go into the hall, get the thing I brought you," he says, you nod, reluctantly letting go of him.

"Just don't die out there, alright?" you breathe; you're not joking, last time you let him go he did die.

His lips quirk up, and he nods, "I'll try not to." He slips from your grasp and heads out of the door, leaving it open, you watch him picking something up off the floor next to it, then he ducks back inside and closes it again.

When you see the white box a grin breaks onto your face, a surprised laugh slipping from your lips, "you remembered cake."

"Course I did, you don't have much faith in me, do you?" he collapses onto the sofa beside you, flicking open the box lid, inside is a white frosted cake multiple layered cake, he leans in and whispers into your ear, "we don't have to save any for Nathan this time." Your shoulders shake as you laugh, accepting the fork as Sam hands you it.

"I remember you liked this last time I got it and I figured that since I've been away..." he shrugs and you dig your fork into the cake.

Inside is bright red and you feel your heart thud unevenly, the memories of your sixteenth birthday flooding back, how you told him you love him for the first time and then you had sex. He was so gentle, so sweet. "I've missed you."

You can see he's about to make a joke out of it, say something sarcastic, but then something falters and crumbles, his voice comes out a lot smaller than you're expecting, "yeah, I missed you too, princess."

"Never leave me again, alright, Sam?" you breathe, "take me wherever you go for the rest of your life, promise me?" He nods and you smile, "open," there's a second's hesitation where he's confused by what you're asking him to do, then he opens his mouth for you to feed him the cake.

A laugh slips from his lips as you pull the fork away, "yknow, I should really be feeding you, it's your birthday after all."

You shrug, "I've got all I need, how's the cake?"

"Delicious," he breathes, a look in his eyes like you're the first sunset, the first star filled night sky, and the first sunrise he's seen in fifteen years all wrapped up in a neat little bundle with a huge garish ribbon on it.


	12. Bedroom Hymns

You barely managed to get a fifth of the way through the cake before the tension was too strong, the desperate need to be close after so long, you could barely tear yourselves away from each other long enough to breathe let alone stop. You palm him roughly through his jeans and he groans, bucking his hips, "fuck-  _ wait _ , it's been fifteen years, slow down a little."

You eye him skeptically, "you told me you'd been out of jail for two already, are you seriously telling me you didn't get laid during that time? Even once? You didn't know if I'd gotten married or-"

"Okay, so maybe it hasn't been fifteen years," he breathes, "maybe it's closer to two months." Your eyebrows raise, that still seems a pretty long time. At least for Sam. "Yeah," he breathes, "I'm dyin' here, princess." For a moment you thought he was going to apologise for not waiting.

Your lips twitch up, cupping him through his jeans again, "I know you like throwing me around," you bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes, "trust me - I like that too," he smirks, "can I ride you this time?"

He nods, hands making fast work of unfastening your jeans and belt, "there's just one thing I want to do first," he picks you up and drops you onto the sofa then starts tugging your jeans off. You lift your hips up and slide your panties down your legs. He looks almost feverish as he collapses on his knees in front of you, "open your knees, princess, I need to taste you, I have to know if you taste as good as I remember."

You groan and scoot down in the seat, swinging your legs over his shoulders, "that's it, good girl," he spreads you with his fingers, pressing his tongue against your clit - just that pressure alone is enough to make you moan out loud. He pulls back, "sounds like it's been a while for you, too."

"Could say that," you breathe, his lips twitch up, he leans back in and presses a light kiss to your clit, trailing down to your entrance, his tongue dips inside you and you groan, hands fisting in his hair. He laps at you, his eyes fluttering shut as he moans pressing his lips flush against your skin. He pushes his tongue as deep inside you as he can, your eyes rolling back into your head, you bite your lip to try to cut off the sounds of your pleasure.

He draws his tongue back up to your clit unexpectedly, pushing two fingers inside you to replace the loss, eliciting a breathy moan from you, he crooks his fingers into your spot, his tongue flicking across your clit at an alarming speed. You're getting close to your climax when he pulls back, looking up at you as he licks his lips, "you sound fucking amazing," he slides his fingers back out of you and immediately puts them into his mouth, moaning around them as he sucks them clean, his eyes closing; he looks completely blissed out. Then he pulls them back from between his lips with a wet pop, "you  _ taste  _ amazing too, princess." 

You swallow hard, reaching for him; it'd been so long and he was starting to drive you crazy with his teasing, "I need you inside me, Sam," you breathe, "fuck me,  _ please- _ "

"All in good time, sweetheart," he smirks, "where's the bedroom? We should go somewhere more comfortable." You point at a door across the room and he stands, your arms wrapping around his neck as he leans over you to grab your thighs, your ass. You're lifted from the sofa, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, and he crosses the room in large strides to a half-shut door.

He nudges it open, quickly crosses the bedroom, and drops you onto your back on the bed. You grab for him but he retreats out of the room, you huff out a sigh and fall back onto the sheets, running your hand through your hair. You really wanted to get your hands on him. He slips back through the door a few minutes later with the rest of the cake. Your eyes widen as you catch sight of it, "are you-"

"Just in case," he tells you, the smirk he's wearing showing no signs of ever going away, you groan out a curse, head falling back against the bed as images of him licking frosting off of your naked body flash through your mind. 

"Take off your shirt, sweetheart," he tells you, "and your bra." You sit up, making quick work of throwing your shirt across the room, your bra following a moment later. Sam unfastens his belt and you bite your lip - you're so ready for this - the belt hits the floor, his jeans following a moment later, he tugs his socks off then crawls onto the bed, pausing beside you to lift his shirt off.

You curse under your breath, running your fingers across his stomach and chest, "you gonna tell me how you kept looking like this in prison?"

"Sit ups," he chuckles, moving to straddle your hips, he nips at your neck, leaving hot wet kisses down your skin to your collarbone, your breath shakes when he gets to your breasts, his tongue teasing you, your fingers slide into his hair as he circles your left nipple with his tongue, his thumb running softly over the right. He moves his mouth down and starts sucking a purple mark onto your ribcage, trying to mark you where only he can see it. You gasp, nails digging into his scalp, you've always loved being marked by him. 

You're his, he's yours; hickeys just showed it in the most juvenile and trashy way. When you lost your virginity to him and he covered you in purple splotches that you had to hide from the nuns for weeks. After the marathon sex you had before he left for the prison you were covered in hickeys, all beneath your clothes... it was so smutty; when you were showering and you saw all the purple marks between your thighs, reminding you exactly how they got there. He hadn't changed.

He moves to your stomach, kissing down in a trail, all the way until he gets to your pubic bone, then he ducks down, laying flat on his stomach between your legs, he lifts your left leg onto his shoulder and starts sucking a mark onto your thigh. You groan, head falling back. Definitely has not changed. He marks you at least five more times on that thigh alone before moving onto the next, marking that one another four. Then he runs his tongue between your folds, his fingers gently spreading you, his lips encircle your clit as he starts sucking lightly, his tongue teasing you, and try as you might you're helpless to stop the noises coming up your throat.

You were always good at controlling your reactions, you can come silently if you have to, but Sam? Sam knows how to break the dam in your chest holding all the sounds back in seconds. He can draw noises out of you that you didn't know were possible, every time he fucks you it sounds like you're a porn star making a video, though everything you're feeling, every single moan and gasp, every desperate cry of his name is real.

Within seconds he's got you back on the edge, with his tongue circling your clit and his fingers digging into your skin, your hips rocking against his face, "Sam, I'm gonna-" He pushes his fingers inside you, grinding them into your spot, you fall over the edge with a cry, back arching up off the bed, he slams your hips back down as they lift, holding you still as he dips his tongue inside you, cleaning you up as you gasp and squirm against him.

He pulls away and crawls up the bed beside you, stroking your hair back out of your face with a smile, "how was that?"

You can't stop the laugh coming up your throat between desperate panting gasps for air, "how was- Sam, didn't you hear me scream?" you ask, "I think it's safe to say you did good."

His lips twitch up, "I just like hearing you say it," he leans in, his lips brushing yours. You capture them for a second, just a brief kiss before you break away again. He pushes forward and presses his lips against yours again, more urgently, desperately, his tongue sliding into your mouth, lightly licking at yours, curving up to lightly flick at the roof. It doesn't take long before you have to break away from him, still breathless from your orgasm. 

"Tell me when you're ready to keep going," he tells you quietly, fingers stroking your hair, that look on his face like he's looking at a sunset again.

A sick feeling comes over you all of a sudden - what if every single moment since you woke up has been a dream? What if this is- "promise me this isn't a dream," you whimper, trying to keep yourself from crying, you've never liked being emotional in front of Sam. You've always tried to hide it, even now. Even when you're not sure it's even real.

"Princess, if it is don't wake me up," he breathes, leaning over you to press a soft kiss to your lips, "would it help if I pinched you?"

A laugh slips from your lips, "I think you've already done more than pinch me," you tell him, "do you want me to pinch  _ you  _ or would you rather I claw my nails down your back as you ravish me?"

He grins, "the latter," his fingers trail through your hair again, softly untangling a knot as he smiles down at you. Oh, God, it's real.

"Sam," you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs, the heat spreading through you, your chest rising and falling more quickly, "I want you inside me," you breathe, almost stumbling over the words you're speaking so quickly, "now," his smile turns into that smug grin, "right fucking now-" he pushes your legs apart and moves to kneel between them again.

"Condoms?" he asks, "bedside drawer?" You nod and he leans over to pull open the top drawer, rifling through a few of your belongings until he pulls out a strip of condoms. Then he freezes, his eyes fixed on the drawer.

"Sam?" You try to sit up to see inside, see what he sees. "What is it? If there's a spider, I swear to God- you better kill it."

His lips twitch up into a fond smile as he shakes his head, dropping the condoms onto the bed before grabbing the item he's looking at. He pulls out a worn envelope, one that has been opened and closed, read and resealed, hundreds of times over fifteen years. "You kept it," he breathes.

"Yeah, it was all I really had left," you say, "aside from some of your shirts that I could never bring myself to throw away," you shrug lightly, a lump forming in your throat, "proved you were real," you try to swallow. It's not the time to get emotional. 

Sam looks over at you and he's got that look of wonder on his face, the look of awe and amazement; you're his everything. He sets the letter back down on the cabinet top and leans down to brush his lips against yours before pressing them together in a long kiss, his lips slowly moving against yours. Before he pulls away he presses a second lighter, gentler kiss to your lips. 

He sits back and picks up the strip of condoms, flipping them over to look at the expiry date, "Christ it has been a while," he chuckles, "don't worry, babe, I'm here now."

You roll your eyes and cover them with your hand, a slight embarrassed flush to your cheeks, "I hate you."

"Yeah, I know you do," he grins, "I love you too," he tears one of the condoms off the strip and drops the rest onto the cabinet, "you can be damn sure we'll be using the rest of those, by the way," he says, "you only have a few months left." You groan at the idea of spending the rest of your day in bed.

You can hear the sound of a packet being opened and you move your hand to look up at him, he offers you the condom, "wanna make sure I'm real?" he asks, you stifle a laugh and nod, you grip his biceps firmly as you push him onto his back. "Uh-" you shush him and his lips twitch up. 

You pluck the condom from his fingers and unroll it slightly, sitting it on top of his cock, his eyebrows raise as you lick your lips and lean forward, slowly taking him into your mouth as the condom unrolls along his length. His eyes widen, only able to watch you for a few seconds before his head falls back against the bed, a groan slipping from his lips. "This is new."

You keep going until you can't take any more of him into your throat, then you pull off, finishing rolling it the rest of the way with your fingers, he tries to push himself up and you force him back down, "ah-ah," you smile, "you promised me I could ride you."

" _ Fuck _ , I did, didn't I?" he asks, hands gripping your hips, "well, I guess I'm just gonna have to lay here completely at your mercy, princess." You bite your lip and spread your fingers across his chest, shifting your weight as you swing your leg over him, moving to straddle his hips.  

"I've missed you," you duck down and press your lips against his for the briefest second before you lift yourself up slightly, your hand going between your legs to line him up, the noises that are drawn from both of your throats as you start sinking down onto him should be embarrassing - gasping moans from Sam and desire filled groans from you - but weirdly enough, they're not. 

There's a slight discomfort as he stretches you out; it's been fifteen years since you've had anyone with a cock as thick as Sam's inside you, if you'd have stopped for a second to consider that you might have prepared better - let him finger you more, maybe even sent him to the store for lube. But like this, you know you're going to feel it tomorrow, and it just helps solidify that this is reality in your mind. This is real, this is happening. Sam's home, he's back, and his cock is inside you. 

Your hips meet his, his cock fully sheathed inside you, "fuck  _ yes _ ," you breathe, and he chuckles in response as he sits up, pressing wet open-mouthed, hot-breathed, kisses down your neck. " _ Oh _ , I have missed you so fucking much, you feel so good-"

"You don't have to stroke my ego, princess," his mumbled words further muffled by your shoulder against his mouth.

"I'm not," you breathe, rocking your hips slightly as you get used to the feeling of how full he makes you, "it's been longer than a while Sam, and none of them felt like this."

He chuckles again, "don't worry, I'm sure you remember what to do," you bounce on his cock and he grits his teeth, breath hissing out, "do you want me to grab the cake or-"

"Eat it afterwards," you tell him, "dessert for after dessert," he grins and you rock your hips again, trying to find the right place... you lean back a little, your hands moving from his chest to his knees. Sam's grip on your hips tightens as you pull nearly all the way off then rock your hips down, gasping loudly as you hit your spot directly. 

"That's it," he breathes, his head dropping so he can trail kisses between your breasts, along your sternum, "good girl, God, you look so good." You bounce on his cock again, a little harder this time and groan at the wave of pleasure that goes over you, your walls clenching around him. "Oh fuck," his eyes squeeze shut, "you feel good too."

You'd laugh if his hips didn't jerk up slightly to make you gasp in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself starting to lose control, body moving of its own accord, desperately clawing its way to that sweet release.

"I hope you don't take it personally," Sam grunts, "but I am not gonna last long." You don't care. You don't want to have sex for hours, you want to feel yourself come around him, hear his groans as he falls apart... you want to fall asleep in his arms again, for the first time in fifteen years and wake up with him still beside you in bed, you want to do this every day for the rest of your life.

You feel a surge of sparks go up your spine, a loud moan slipping from your lips, " _ Sam _ ," a wave rolls through your stomach, one of your hands quickly moves from his thigh so you can stroke your clit.

"Let me," he gently nudges your hand out of the way, replacing your fingers with his, within seconds you're screaming his name, mouth open in a silent gasp as your head rolls back, he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, watching your face as you gasp and moan, "fuck, you're so beautiful, princess," his breath catches, hands moving to grip your hips more firmly, he pushes you onto your back, your hands grabbing for his shoulders, he holds you still as he bucks into you, head bowing to bury his face in your neck, his groans muffled by your skin.

Your legs wrap around his waist, holding onto him as he stills, his panting breaths dancing across your skin, your eyes closing in blissful happiness. You can feel his heart hammering against your chest, and yours on the opposite side beating just as hard. He lifts his head, a featherlight brush of his lips against yours, they twitch up and he smiles, his arms trembling from the exertion as he pushes himself up and rolls off you, landing on the bed beside you with a slight grunt. 

"So," he pants, "we gonna eat the rest of that cake?" You let out a laugh and he glances across at you, grinning, "yknow, outta all the sounds in the world, that is the one I missed the most."

Your laughter dies and you look at him in surprise, "really?" He nods, "not even the sound of my voice, or my moans?"

"Oh I missed those plenty, too, princess," he smirks, "just... your laugh is kinda like music."

"Aw," your cheeks flush, an ache starting up in your chest, you roll over and wriggle closer to him, pressing yourself against his side, "yknow what I've missed?" 

He looks at you, narrowing his eyes and worrying his lip slightly, "what?"

"Your smile," you say, "not the cocky one, or the smug one, or the smirk, no... the  _ happy  _ one."

He smiles, properly, that big beaming smile he rarely ever shows anyone, the one you love, "you're getting soft, princess."

"Maybe," you agree, "but so are you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone!! ❤


	13. Epilogue | a.k.a. A Princess, a Seaplane, and Really Bad Jokes

You stand on a private runway looking at Victor's plane - it isn't for the first time but it certainly feels like it. He leans out of the door and grins at you, "long time no see, kid."

You feel yourself grin back, "you're looking good, Sullivan, must be fighting the ladies off with a stick." He chuckles and ducks back inside. You hear your bag get picked up from the tarmac beside you, and you look up at Sam as he slings it over his shoulder.

He smiles down at you and takes your hand, "ready to go, princess?" You breathe a ' _ yes _ ' and let him lead you over to the plane, climbing on board with Sam following behind you. 

"Strap in kiddies," Victor says as he starts getting ready to take off, "if you suffer from motion sickness I hope you brought your own paper bags because I don't have any, also I'm not responsible for any injuries you sustain during flying - I should probably have you sign something to that effect but, eh, I trust ya." Sam closes the plane door and sits down in the seat next to you.

"Yknow, Nathan and I sat in these very same seats after Libertalia," he tells you - of course by now you've heard the whole tale of pirates and treasure, of betrayal... of Sam's dirty fat stinking  _ lies _ . Of Rafe's fate aboard that ship. 

Your lips twitch up, "always in your baby brother’s shadow, huh? How does that feel?"

"Ooh," he groans, hand over heart, "you wound me," then he shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips, "honestly? Not so great, but, uh... yknow, I have some catching up to do, and who better to do it with?"

"I never knew you felt that way about me, Sam," Victor says and a smile breaks out onto your face in response, "I'm touched."

"You're not the one who's supposed to be touched, Victor," Sam says with a slight laugh. 

"Didn't tell you where I was touched," he says, Sam just rolls his eyes, "the back of my throat," Victor continues as Sam's face twists in confusion, he starts up the plane's engine, "because you make me retch." 

You try to hide your laughter but Sam catches onto it quickly, "you think it's funny, huh? Think it's funny-" he wraps an arm around you and pulls you onto his lap, "wanna hear something funny?"

You shake your head, please no, not one of his jokes, " _ no- _ " 

He just starts talking over you, "what did one ocean say to the other ocean?" your desperate pleas being ignored, "nothing, they just waved." He looks at you expectantly, a grin plastered across his face. Your lips twitch up. It's cute that he thinks it's so funny.

"It wasn't funny the last time you told  _ me  _ it either," Victor says, you try not to laugh - it'll just encourage him to keep telling bad jokes, "you can almost hear the crickets this time."

"It's a good joke!" Sam insists, you let out the smallest laugh and lean up to kiss his cheek, "see, Victor, she liked it, can't go wrong with a good-"

"No, honey, I didn't," you tell him, climbing off his lap so you can get ready for take off, "keep working on it though, I'm sure you have one that'll make me laugh," you sit yourself back in your seat and buckle in. You're pretty sure you've heard most of Sam's jokes, he's been telling you the same ones since you met him, though over the years he's gained a few more. 

Victor, who's watching from his seat, smiles at you both and shakes his head, "didn't think I'd see a day where you two were sat back there, thought it'd long since passed us by."

"That a good thing?" Sam asks, finishing buckling himself in, he runs a hand through his hair, then starts checking his pockets, making sure he's got everything. Lighter, check. Cigarettes, check. Lucky coin, check. Phone, check. 

"Very good thing, kid," Sullivan says, a small smile on his face, "so, what d'ya say we go find ourselves some treasure?" Sam's hand dips into the chest pocket on his shirt. Cross, check.

"Fuck yeah," you grin. Sam chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulders, you lean into it, molding yourself to him as you always have, as you likely always will.

"Hey," Sam turns to you, suddenly, and for a second your heart flutters. "A man walks into a bar," _ oh good _ , "and orders helicopter flavor chips," your brow creases, helicopter flavored- "the barman replies 'sorry, we only do plain.'" 

You shake your head, a fond smile on your lips, "it's a good job I love you because you have  _ really  _ terrible jokes."

"What about-" you press your fingers to his lips to silence him.

"Please, no more until later?" He nods and you move your fingers, leaning back into his side, just enjoying being with him, being back with Victor, even being back on his distastefully painted seaplane.

The plane starts moving and for once you feel like everything has clicked neatly into place, like nothing is going to go wrong. Of course it could later when you have gun-wielding mercenaries chasing you through the jungle but at this moment in time everything is exactly as you dreamed, it's  _ perfect _ , and that's more than you could ask for. You almost expect to wake up any moment.

"Why do scuba divers fall backwards into the water?" Sam asks suddenly. 

You glance up at him, but... Sam had his scuba licence, he should know why- "I thought you had your-"

"Because if they fell forwards they'd still be in the boat," he grins. You go quiet for a second, then shake your head, a grin forming. Even bad jokes can't ruin it. It's still perfect.

"Come on," he says with a grin, nudging you, "that one was funny."

"No."

"It was funny!"

You shake your head, "no, it wasn't."

"On a scale of one to ten, how funny was that joke?"

"Like a two," you say. 

"A two?" he asks in horror. "What would get a ten?"

"You getting your mouth taped shut," you grin.

He frowns, "that'd be a  _ one _ . Yknow what joke'd be a ten-"

"Oh, god-"

"So a pirate walks into a bar..."


End file.
